


You heard me. Take. It. Off.

by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)



Series: Spreading Positivity 2020 [35]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things, Derek Hale Loves Stiles Stilinski, Don't copy to another site, Established Relationship, M/M, Scents & Smells, Stiles Stilinski Loves Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski Misses Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski is a Nice Thing, Territorial Derek Hale, Werewolf Culture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:15:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23764447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wasterella/pseuds/isthatbloodonhisshirt
Summary: His heart was still beating so hard and fast that he couldn’t fully appreciate the fact that Derek washereyet. He was homeearly! Which waswonderfulnews, and he would be acknowledging this just as soon as he calmed down.Seriously, he felt like he was lucky to be alive. Nobody wanted to turn around in their empty apartment and find someone standing a few feet away! That was nightmare-inducing! Especially for someone like Stiles, who’d grown up with things trying to eat him. Or maul him. Or maim him.He had a stressful childhood, okay, jump-scares were not his thing.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Spreading Positivity 2020 [35]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1667605
Comments: 23
Kudos: 1014





	You heard me. Take. It. Off.

It wasn’t the first time he’d done it. Honestly, when Derek was away for long periods of time due to work, Stiles _missed him_ , and nobody could fault him for it. He might not have been a Werewolf himself, but he still had _needs_! And he’d been best friends with one for years, and had been in a pack with a bunch of them, _and_ was dating one. So really, it was all the exposure. He couldn’t help it. 

When Derek went away for extended periods of time, Stiles missed him. A lot. He missed his warmth, and his smell, and the comfortable weight of him behind or on top of him. It wasn’t easy being left behind, but Stiles knew that this was life. 

He had his own job, so it wasn’t like he could just hop on a plane with Derek whenever his boyfriend had to go out of town, even though they could afford it, and even though he really, _really_ wanted to. It just wasn’t a possibility, what with Stiles having his own job. 

Sometimes when Derek was only gone for two or so days, Stiles could hold out. He was fine, he was an _adult_ , and thus could survive without Derek all up in his business like the territorial, over-protective Alpha Werewolf boyfriend he was—not to be confused with that being a bad thing, Stiles totally loved it. 

Other times, like this trip, it was a bit harder. Derek didn’t often go away for _long_ periods of time. His average tended to be a week, tops. This time though, something had gone wrong at the site he was at, and he was staying for _three weeks_! 

Three!

That was unheard of! Stiles hadn’t spent more than a week apart from Derek ever since they’d become a thing. Three weeks might as well have been three _years_! 

So, even though he was sure this was a weird thing to do, and even though it was totally and _completely_ a Werewolf thing to do, when Stiles was informed of Derek’s extended stay, he’d gone to the hamper and pulled out a few of Derek’s shirts. 

He knew, okay! He knew it was weird! But he’d been around Werewolves since he was sixteen, scent was a thing he’d picked up from them. And sleeping in Derek’s dirty shirts made him feel like he wasn’t so alone in their huge apartment. 

Because it _was_ huge. Overly large. His father had said it was _unreasonably_ lavish. Stiles knew it was, but a part of him figured it was about Derek wanting to give him something nice. They’d bought it together, and given Stiles had grown up with he and his father just barely hovering above the poverty line, having money felt... weird. And nice. 

He and Derek could afford the condo. And it _was_ overly huge and unreasonably lavish, and had two levels, and a doorman and marble counter tops and just... it had no reason to be as nice as it was. And yet, Stiles had been all for buying it when Derek had suggested it. Having the ability to afford something _that_ nice had felt really good. 

It felt less good when he spent days by himself. It felt too big, and reminded him too much of living alone in the house after his mother died and his father was always working. There was a reason Stiles spent more time at Scott’s or just out than in the house. 

As an adult, it was harder to do. His friends all had jobs and families of their own. His dad was _still_ always working, and so Stiles often found himself alone in the big apartment. An apartment that felt just right when he and Derek were in it together, and exceptionally gigantic when he was by himself. 

It was weird to think about how one person could make the entire place seem more like a _home_ than just a place where he happened to live. Big difference. 

Today was day twelve of Derek being gone, and the shirt Stiles had started wearing around the house after work was losing some of its distinct Derek scent, which meant it was time for a wardrobe change. 

He only had one shirt left though, and at least nine more days before Derek came back. Stupid Derek and doing laundry before leaving. If he hadn’t, Stiles would’ve had many shirts! He drew the line at shirts, he recognized it was weird enough without going to like, underwear. That’d be _really_ weird. 

Stiles stood staring down at the last shirt, a soft, dark green Henley that always seemed to make Derek’s eyes pop when he wore it. It was one of his preferred ‘at home’ shirts. He usually wore it when it was cold out and they were cuddled together on the couch watching movies. Stiles loved soft Derek. He didn’t come out much in front of other people, but when they were home alone together, soft Derek made an appearance quite frequently. 

Reaching out, Stiles rubbed the material between his fingers, sighing and figuring he’d just deal with it when he ran out later. Tugging off the shirt he’d been wearing, which smelled much more like Stiles now than Derek, he threw it into the hamper and tugged on the Henley. He and Derek were the same height, and their shoulders were about the same width, but Derek had longer arms. Whenever Stiles wore one of his Henleys, the sleeves always went halfway down his hands.

He brought his covered hands up to his face and pressed them against his nose, inhaling with his eyes closed. 

“You guys have made me turn into a weirdo,” Stiles muttered behind his own hands. If someone had told sixteen year old him he’d one day be standing in his bedroom—which he shared with a grumpy Alpha Werewolf, no less—wearing one of his boyfriend’s dirty shirts and inhaling his scent, he’d have insisted that person was gross and lying. 

And yet, here he was. At least he knew all the shirts he’d been wearing weren’t like, _overly_ gross. They were all shirts Derek had been wearing around the house before he left—because he was a real adult who got dressed when he stayed home all day, unlike Stiles, who just lounged in his PJs—and not like, a sweaty shirt he’d gone for a jog in. Not that Derek sweated, because Werewolves apparently didn’t feel temperature changes, and the leather jacket he always wore was for fashion and not warmth.

Made sense really, that thing had _no_ insulation, wouldn’t keep _anyone_ warm. 

Sighing and letting his hands drop, Stiles turned to head back down to the main part of their home, thinking on what to make for dinner. A part of him wanted to be lazy and mopey, because he’d had a shitty day, was down to his last Derek shirt, was _alone_ , and didn’t have a boyfriend to vent at. That meant ordering in, but he didn’t want to waste food. He could never finish everything he ordered in when Derek wasn’t around, and he always forgot about the leftovers the next day and they ended up going bad. 

Adulting was hard, Stiles hated it. 

He knew when Derek called him in half an hour that he could vent about his day, but Stiles never did that when they were apart. He liked to reserve the calls for nicer things, like how Derek was doing, and what was going on around Beacon Hills, and if Stiles had managed to perfect making the most deliciously moist brownies in the world—he was almost there, okay! It was a science! 

Spending their short stints on the phone bitching about work seemed like a waste, so Stiles never did it. He knew Derek could tell when he’d had a bad day, and he still asked about it, but Stiles just deflected. Their calls were for happy things, not mopey Stiles and his mopey day because of his stupid boss and incompetent co-workers. Which, okay, wasn’t fair, they weren’t _that_ bad, but sometimes he just wanted to bang his head repeatedly against his desk. 

He stood at the bottom of the stairs for a long while, still debating between ordering in and making something. Eventually, he figured making something would keep his mind off his shitty day, so he put some headphones on, started up some music on his phone, and then went to hunt down ingredients. 

Checking everything in the fridge and pantry, he had enough to make spaghetti. But did he _want_ to make spaghetti, was the question. Did he _feel_ like making spaghetti? He had to make the sauce from scratch, and that felt _so_ time-consuming. But on the bright side, it froze really well, he could keep some in the freezer for the next time he wanted spaghetti.

Actually, maybe past-Stiles had already done that. Maybe he _had_ some pasta sauce in the freezer! 

Turning around so he could check, Stiles almost had a heart attack when he found someone standing in the middle of the living room, the music blaring in his ears having stopped him from hearing them enter. 

It took a few seconds for his heart to stop trying to escape through his mouth, and he finally realized the motionless figure was _Derek_. 

“Fuck almighty!” Stiles tugged the headphones off, dropping them on the counter before leaning one hand against it, the other pressed against his heart. “You trying to _murder_ me? I’m pretty sure I just had a mild heart attack. Fuck.” 

His heart was still beating so hard and fast that he couldn’t fully appreciate the fact that Derek was _here_ yet. He was home _early_! Which was _wonderful_ news, and he would be acknowledging this just as soon as he calmed down. 

Seriously, he felt like he was lucky to be alive. Nobody wanted to turn around in their empty apartment and find someone standing a few feet away! That was nightmare-inducing! Especially for someone like Stiles, who’d grown up with things trying to eat him. Or maul him. Or maim him. 

He had a stressful childhood, okay, jump-scares were not his thing. 

Derek didn’t move or say a word while Stiles struggled to calm himself down, music still blaring through the headphones on the counter. Massaging at his heart for a little bit longer, Stiles finally managed to straighten and offered his boyfriend a small smile. 

“Hey. Welcome back. You’re early! Everything go okay?” 

Derek still didn’t say anything. He was just staring at him like he wanted to eat him. Or kill him, it was hard to tell sometimes with Derek. 

Stiles frowned, opening his mouth to ask what was wrong when he froze as his hand dropped to his side. He’d just felt the over-long sleeve of the Henley slide over his knuckles, and realized _he was wearing one of Derek’s dirty shirts_! Stiles did this, it was a thing he did, but he never _told_ Derek he did it, and he _certainly_ didn’t ever get _caught_ doing it! 

Derek was still supposed to be gone for nine days, there had been plenty of time for Stiles to be back to wearing his own shirts around the house. 

He opened his mouth to say something, maybe come up with an excuse, like he couldn’t find a comfortable hoodie, or he wanted something soft, but that would only work plausibly if the shirt hadn’t very obviously been _worn_. Derek had a drawer full of Henleys upstairs—he really liked them, the guy had like, thirty in various colours—so that excuse was a little weak. 

“I can explain,” Stiles said, sounding about as confident as he felt. Fuck, what if it was weird?

What was he saying, of _course_ it was weird! He was a fucking human, wearing his Alpha Werewolf boyfriend’s dirty shirt, it was _totally_ fucking weird! 

“Take it off.” 

Stiles felt his heart stutter in his chest at the words. The growl in Derek’s tone had sounded dangerous. Almost threatening. Shit, this... was this bad? Had he crossed some kind of unknown Werewolf line by wearing his shirt? 

“What?” he asked, voice barely a whisper. 

“You heard me,” Derek snarled, dropping his bags with a loud thud and moving forward. His eyes flashed red and he brought one hand up to tug at his tie, loosening it before yanking it off forcefully. “Take. It. Off.” 

Was this bad? This felt really bad. Stiles wondered if he could grab for his phone to call for help. Jackson lived a few blocks west, he could probably make it there before Derek thoroughly tore his throat out. 

He doubted that would work out in his favour though, so for now he felt it best to do as the angry Werewolf asked. Grabbing the bottom of the shirt, he hastily yanked it off, pulling his arms out of the long sleeves. Before he could even drop it on the counter, Derek was right in front of him. 

Stiles let out a shout and backpedalled quickly, back hitting the pantry door, the handle digging into the base of his spine. He didn’t even have a chance to apologize before Derek went for his throat. 

It took him a few seconds to realize the teeth at his pulse weren’t ripping through his skin. Oh, that was—okay. Derek wasn’t trying to murder him, apparently he was just so turned on that he’d gone into caveman mode, which sounded very similarly to murderous Werewolf mode. 

He was biting and sucking at Stiles’ skin, seeming determined to bring all the blood to the surface in a hickey that Stiles was _never_ going to be able to hide. His hands were dragging down Stiles’ bare front, blunt nails raking against his skin, and he was panting so hard that Stiles was almost concerned about him. 

Oh, and he was rocking his clothed dick against Stiles’ thigh. That too. 

“Fuck,” Derek hissed against his skin, biting and sucking his way down to Stiles’ collarbone. “ _Fuck_ , Stiles!” 

“Well I mean, you’re sure trying!” Stiles insisted with a semi-hysterical laugh escaping him. “You scared the shit out of me, I thought you were mad.” 

Derek just groaned again when he reached Stiles’ sternum, like the shirt pressed against his skin there made Derek’s scent transfer onto him more potently. 

“You smell like me,” Derek breathed, licking a long stripe up from Stiles’ sternum to the bottom of his chin. “You smell like I never left. I always wondered why the scent never faded when I was gone. Why it always smelled like I was wrapped around you the whole time I was away.” 

“I’m guessing by the enthusiastic tonguing that this is a good thing to you,” Stiles teased. 

Derek let out a low, guttural growl that was very territorial and started attacking the _other_ side of his neck. 

“I love it,” Derek panted against his skin. “I love that you smell like me even when I’m not here.” 

“Whoa, _whoa_ , we eat in here!” Stiles insisted when Derek’s hands shoved their way into the back of his sweats, kneading his ass. “Bedroom! _Bedroom_!” 

“Couch,” Derek countered. 

“Anything but the counter, this is where we make food!” 

Derek growled against his skin again, like he was being unreasonable, but he just dug his fingers more firmly into Stiles’ ass, trying to lift him off the ground. Stiles took the hint and wrapped his arms around Derek’s neck, then jumped up. His legs wound around Derek’s middle, and the Werewolf finally lifted his head out of Stiles’ throat to kiss him properly while pulling away from the pantry and turning them around to walk towards the couch. 

Stiles decided it was probably going to be an order-in night, because with the way Derek was kissing him and gripping his ass, he was pretty sure he was going to have to call in sick tomorrow. He had a feeling he was about to get completely and thoroughly _fucked_ and he was _so_ looking forward to it. 

He was pretty sure the next time Derek left for an extended period of time, Stiles was going to have all the shirts he wanted waiting for him until Derek got back. 

**END.**

**Author's Note:**

> Teen Wolf (c) Jeff Davis 
> 
> Come chill with me on [Tumblr](https://isthatbloodonhisshirt.tumblr.com/).


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